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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28937637">Sins of the Father</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/errantcomment/pseuds/errantcomment'>errantcomment</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dramedy, F/F, Inheritance, Meet-Cute, Parent Death, Superheroes, Supervillains</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:35:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,192</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28937637</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/errantcomment/pseuds/errantcomment</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Millie's stereotypically millennial life is pulled to an abrupt halt by the sudden death of her father.  This would be hard enough for anyone but her father is the notorious super-villain Diamondback, and she has been called in to his secret volcano lair by her father's lawyer to wrap up his affairs.  Will Millie follow in her father's footsteps?  Will she ever get the courage to ask out the lovely Carmen Calloway?  And if she does, will she survive long enough to show up to the date?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sins of the Father</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was originally a response to a Reddit prompt, and I thought it might be nice to see if I could get some feedback on it (sweet sweet validation).  I have an idea for the rest of the story and will continue posting as I get time.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Finding out Dad died was… weird.  Him and Mum didn’t get on so well, and like, you know how it is.  Mum sent me off to boarding school when she got sick.  After she died, Dad would call every now and again, we emailed a few times a month, once or twice he even showed up to open days but he was working a lot.  Got some bomb-ass birthday and Christmas presents though.  He paid my way through university and was even pretty decent about me not joining the graduate scheme for his organisation.  Don’t get me wrong, the grad scheme is supposed to be amazing and I would entirely recommend it, but I never fancied being a henchman or whatever.  We maintained friendly email contact.</p>
<p>When it came to it, when I graduated, I had a beautiful girlfriend called Loretta and a promising entry level role in a publishing house.  By the time Dad died, Loretta had been replaced by a cat called Murphy and the promise turned out to be empty.  I was living in a two-bedroom house with a guy called Tim who worked for a start-up of some description.  I liked Tim, he would usually go half on a crate of beer and I could usually persuade him to come to the pub with me if he didn’t have a raid that evening.  He was mute in the face of my father’s death.  He made me a cup of tea and we sat at the tiny kitchen table staring into our mugs like the answer might be in the bottom.  Tim nibbled on a Hobnob and I fiddled aimlessly with the packet.  I guess I was waiting to start crying or something, not even looking through some of our recent email exchanges had provoked a reaction.  I felt kind of hollow.  I was all alone in the world, except for Murphy and maybe Tim, so long as I kept feeding them both.</p>
<p>After a moment, Tim cleared his throat. “I uh… Are you going to go to the funeral and all that?”</p>
<p>I blinked.  “I guess.  It’s next week.  There’s quite a bit to you know, sort out.”</p>
<p>The radio was on (Tim put it on when he put the kettle on) and I could hear the report. <em>“…also known as the masked villain Diamondback, was found dead in his famous lair.  Masked hero The Mongoose has taken credit for the killing, as part of his wider plan to eradicate…”  </em>I reached over and switched it off.</p>
<p>“Must be weird hearing it on the news like that.”  Tim remarked, reaching for another biscuit.</p>
<p>“I dunno, you get used to that sort of thing.”  I shrugged.  Tim was still looking at me weirdly.  “What?”</p>
<p>“Aren’t you going to cry, or something?”</p>
<p>“Are you saying that because I’m a girl?”  Tim looked stricken and I felt bad.  “I don’t know why I haven’t cried yet.  Maybe I was part of an experiment to stop people from crying.”  I caught the look on Tim’s face and cracked a smile.  “No, do you not remember when we watched Frozen?”</p>
<p>“Oh yeah…  Well, if there’s anything I can do…”  Tim finished his tea.  It was awkward.  That’s the real reason death sucks, everyone is so awkward around you like you might pass it on or just collapse in grief and they’ll be stuck with you or something.</p>
<p>“Well, I’ll have to go and see to things, I think?  I’ve got an email from the lawyer but I didn’t really take it in…”</p>
<p>“Yeah, no, I’m not surprised.  I’ll feed Murph for you.”</p>
<p>“Thanks.”  I meant it.  I was taking a chartered plane to my father’s evil island lair to speak to his lawyer about what ever his estate might be.  I would have to make awkward conversation with all his peers and probably some of the henchmen as well.  Knowing that Murphy would be fed and fussed by my flatmate was a comfort.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next day I wrapped up some things at work and packed my suitcase.  Dad’s lawyer, Cecil Ramsworth, sent a car to my work to take me to the airfield.  That was neat.  The plane was pretty nice as well – I managed to steal three little packets of cashews to take home for Tim and the steward kept my champagne topped up.  I’d never seen Dad’s island lair before, so it was a shame it was foggy coming in.  The steward showed me a picture on his phone – he really seemed to rate Dad, called him a ‘classic’.  The hollowed-out volcano is pretty cool to be fair, I remember he was really pleased when Deceptor retired and gave him first dibs.  It’s even a natural volcano, none of your concrete-and-steam fakery a lot of the new guys are having to get.  I mean, Dad really was a craftsman, one of those old-fashioned masks that only seem to come around once a generation or so.  There was a weird lump in my throat as we touched down on the island but I swallowed it with the last of my champagne.  Mr Ramsworth was waiting for me with another plush car and we drove up a sweeping road through the forest that crept up the sides of the volcano.  The village at the bottom of the volcano was quiet and draped in black bunting in honour of Dad.  The henchmen we did see wore back armbands against the white, black and yellow of Dad’s livery. </p>
<p>“The memorial for fallen henchmen will be before the funeral tomorrow,” Cecil Ramsworth commented.  He was old, about sixty or so and smelled of expensive cologne.  He even had a gold pinky ring.  It was like Dad had picked him out of a catalogue.  Maybe he had.  The car stopped outside a two-story building with ‘Lawyers’ written on the front.  The office was quiet, and became even quieter when I walked in, suddenly very aware that my suit was actually Tim’s suit and that I had definitely drunk at least two more glasses of champagne before three pm than everyone else in the room.  </p>
<p>“I didn’t know Dad needed so many lawyers,” I mumbled as I tried to flatten my hair, which had taken the wind on the airfield rather personally. </p>
<p>“Oh no, a lot of these good people just look after the henchmen, deal with all those little employment issues and life admin… Weddings and union enquiries and so on.  Much easier than making them go back to the mainland all the time.”</p>
<p>I nodded in what I hoped was a wise and understanding manner.  A blonde lady with a clipboard followed us into Mr Ramsworth’s office and put a pile of paper on the big desk in the middle before sitting in the corner and looking attentive. </p>
<p>“This is Carole, Carole, this is Mr Diamondback’s daughter, Millie.”  Carole inclined her head, demurely.  Her hair was in a beautiful chignon and I swear my hair got bigger just looking at how tidy it was.</p>
<p>Cecil took his seat and squared off the pile of papers in front of him.</p>
<p>“Now, my first question.  Are you intending to pick up your father’s mantle in any capacity, including vendetta against foes, fulfilling your father’s dying wish, or some sort of inheritance pledge?”  He unscrewed a fat gold and black fountain pen and looked at me brightly.</p>
<p>“What?” I stopped fiddling with my suitcase handle, which was kind of broken.</p>
<p>“My apologies.  It’s a standard question for people in your position.  I have to clear your intentions with the Guild of World Domination and the Henchmen’s Union.”</p>
<p>“Oh, no, I wasn’t intending on anything like that… The whole villainy thing really skipped a generation.”  I blinked and smiled apologetically, as though my decision to not pursue a life of crime was some sort of character defect.</p>
<p>“Ah, of course.  Well, we’ll go through the standard paperwork and then move onto the will, if that suits you?”</p>
<p>What else was I supposed to say?  There was a lot of paperwork – turns out the beaurocracy of evil is rigorous and extensive.  You would have thought that not wanting to take up my dad’s cape would have cut down on it but honestly it felt like it made it much worse.  I felt like I was in there for most of the day, listening to the Oxford tones of Mr Ramsworth, whilst Carole scratched away quietly behind me.  At one point another Carole (although this one was a man – Carl?) brought tea and biscuits.  Once we were done, Mr Ramsworth shook my hand and Carole showed me out as silently as she had followed me in.  The 4x4 was there and took me back to Dad’s house.</p>
<p>That Dad had a house on the island was a bit of a surprise, but Mr Ramsworth assured me that the lair was really for work only and apparently draughty as all get out.  Dad’s house was out of the village a little way, hidden in a natural clearing with a pool (Dad was always a keen swimmer, he liked to keep trim).  The pool was heated and maintained, which brought the lump back into my throat.  The driver assured me he would be back in time to take me to the memorial the next day and gave me the key to the front door.</p>
<p>The house smelled like cleaning fluid, and felt empty in the way houses do when they don’t have a real owner any more.  The cleaner had left fresh flowers in the vase by the door, and my Dad’s cat Charlie (old, fat, grumpy) had poked his head out the bannisters and given me an ‘oh, it’s you’ kind of a look before retreating again.  A savoury smell lead me into a tidy rustic-style kitchen.  Dad’s cleaner, who signed her note ‘Wanda’, had left me some supplies including an actual slow-cooker full of stew and dumplings.  After trying the stew I realised why Dad did so much swimming.  I had seconds and three glasses of rather excellent red that Wanda had thoughtfully decanted for me.  After that I flopped on the sofa with the top button of my trousers undone and the last glass of wine.  I knew a little bit about Dad’s place – we exchanged photos every now and again – but seeing it in the flesh was a different.  I wondered if the Mongoose had known that Dad had what appeared to be every single Bernard Cornwell book in a mix of paperback and hardback and a throw pillow that said, apparently ironically ‘Bless this mess’.  I wondered if any of the henchmen knew.  Did Wanda have to sign a non-disclosure?  ‘I will not let anyone know my employer has Bridget Jones’ Diary on DVD?’  Once I was sure I wasn’t going to explode in a shower of dumplings and beef, and I’d finished the wine, I pulled my suitcase upstairs and changed into some old sweats.  I was in the guest room, and Wanda the magic cleaner had been in here too, laying out fluffy burnt orange towels and turning back the sheets.  I put my washbag in the bathroom, making a mental note to try out the bath as well as the massive shower. </p>
<p>The bathroom was next to Dad’s room.  I opened the door carefully.  The bed was still made, and on the bedside table was a copy of <em>The Winter King</em> by Bernard Cornwell with a bookmark in it and a framed picture of me holding a balloon at some school open day or other.  I’m not entirely sure what happened next but the next thing I knew I was sat on Dad’s bed holding one of the pillows and weeping as hard as I’ve ever cried.  After what felt like a very long time I sniffed, found a crumpled tissue in my sweats and blew my nose loudly.  I swear, it echoed and then sucked any other sounds out of the house with it.  I knew I couldn’t bear to stay here for a whole lonely evening watching Bridget Jones.  Five minutes later I was out of the house and walking back into the village.  My plan was clear: hole up in a corner of the pub and drink several pints of beer and then fall asleep on my Dad’s sofa with a cheese sandwich for a pillow.</p>
<p>The pub was called ‘The Stooge’s Last Stand’ and there was light and people spilling out onto the pavement.  I slid in easily and bought a pint and a packet of pork scratchings.  The place was pretty busy, but I thought I could see a nook with my name on.  I was so laser-focussed (and the wine I’d already drunk was pretty strong) I walked slap-bang into someone. I managed to hang onto the scratchings but the beer was considerably more into the physics of the situation and threw itself at the victim with verve and abandon.</p>
<p>“Oh my god,” I said, the warm glow from the wine escaping me.</p>
<p>“Oh, my god,” the other person gasped as beer dripped down them.</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry… Let me get you something to mop up with…” I reached into my pocket and offered them a clean tissue.  “It’s clean!  Let me get you more…”  I made my way back to the bar where the bartender, grinning hugely in a way that made me want to disappear into the floor, passed me a wad of blue paper towel.  I handed it to my victim, who turned out to be one of the prettiest women I’ve ever seen.  She had space buns and dark skin, and she was wearing a stripy top and dungarees that were currently soaked in beer.  She was so cute I wanted to eat her with a spoon.  Two spoons. </p>
<p>“Hello?” She was looking at me with her head cocked and her brow furrowed and I realised I was staring.</p>
<p>“Oh, uh, sorry.  I’m not quite, you know… With it.  Uh, can I buy you another drink?”  I managed.</p>
<p>“What, so you can finish drowning me?” </p>
<p>“No, er, I thought you could try drinking this one…”  I giggled nervously and made my way back to the bar.</p>
<p>She was still there when I got back, so that was a plus.  She took the vodka and coke and sipped it.  “Cheers.  What’s your name?”</p>
<p>“Uhm, Millie.”</p>
<p>“You new?  I haven’t seen you around the cafeteria.”</p>
<p>“Oh, um, no.  I’m just in town for the funeral tomorrow.”  I tried to sip my own pint and then tried to pretend that I’d actually meant to drink from an empty pint glass.</p>
<p>“Oh.”  She gave me a long, measuring type look.  She had the most amazing eyes, surrounded by long dark lashes and she’d done this super-cute cat-eye make-up that made them look even bigger and kind of slanted and lovely.  Her eyes widened.  “Are you the boss’s – I mean, are you…”</p>
<p>I smiled awkwardly.  “I… I’m his daughter.  Just in town for the funeral.”</p>
<p>When she was surprised her mouth, painted a deep plum colour, made a beautiful pout.  “Wow, I never knew – “</p>
<p>“Well it’s not something you advertise unless you want to go into the family business,” I shrugged and cast around for something to say.  Anything, she looked like she might go back to her friends at any minute… “Er, what’s your name?”</p>
<p>“Carmen.  I’m a Level Two Henchman, specialising in comms.”  She held out a hand to shake and I did so.</p>
<p>“Sorry, it’s still sticky with uh… Never mind.”  I took my hand back quickly and hoped that the ground would swallow me up.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about it.  How are you holding up?”</p>
<p>“Oh, you know.  I’ve not sworn vengeance, if that’s what you mean.”</p>
<p>“I would have done, if it had been me.”</p>
<p>“Well it wasn’t.”  It came out more sharply than I thought it would and she blinked and raised her eyebrows.  “Sorry, I just… It’s been a long day. I should uh… I should get going.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, right.”  Carmen stepped back and I felt bereft. </p>
<p>“It was good to meet you – someone from the organisation, I mean.” </p>
<p>“Yeah, right.”  Suddenly, Carmen darted forward and kissed me on the cheek.  “I’m sorry about your Dad, he was a good boss.”</p>
<p>And then she was gone, back to a large, rowdy group of people clustered round two tables.  I put a hand to my cheek, like someone who’s been slapped.  Then I went back to my Dad’s house, thinking about dark brown eyes in which I could slip away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next day was cloudy, with a cold breeze blowing off the sea.  I woke up to the sound of seagulls and showered in the wet-room set-up cautiously – I’ve never used a wet-room I haven’t subsequently flooded – and hoped Wanda wouldn’t mind the extra puddles.  Then I climbed back into Tim’s suit and poured myself a bowl of muesli.  Charlie had one of those automatic feeders but I gave him one of the treats I found in a bag next to the muesli.  I ate some of it but it sat in my stomach like a cannonball on a piece of silk and I couldn’t manage more than a few mouthfuls. I drank some water and put on my lipstick in the hall mirror, slipping it into the pocket of the jacket along with my phone and wallet.  Mr Ramsworth had assured me that I wouldn’t be required to do anything more complicated than show up – for most of the henchmen, all their questions would be answered by the union, and they would be paid by the union against another villain taking over the volcano in due course.  I wondered who would take over and if Carmen would think he was a good boss.  The car arrived promptly and drove me to the Henchmen’s Memorial where many people were already gathered.  I had a seat near the front with my name on it, and I sat, feeling out of place.  Some people were crying already, although everyone was wearing their Diamondback uniform with black mourning piping.  In my black suit, which fit me pretty well considering it wasn’t mine, I stuck out like a sore thumb. </p>
<p>“Oh, hey, you’ve come to this too.”  Carmen was stood over me.  The uniform accentuated her figure, nipping in the waist with the standard belt and broadening her shoulders and hips.  Her hair was tied back in a demure bun and I wondered briefly what it would feel like to pull the pins out and run my hands through those curls.</p>
<p>“Yes, well I heard the Mongoose was er, pretty rigorous.”</p>
<p>“He killed twenty people.”  Carmen fiddled with one of her sleeves. </p>
<p>“Yes – I’m sorry.” </p>
<p>“Don’t be, you didn’t know them.  It was good you’ve come though.  Your Dad always came.  A lot of villains don’t, you know.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t know that,” I admitted.  Carmen sat next to me.</p>
<p>“You didn’t know him that well, did you?”</p>
<p>“We emailed – he and Mum broke up before I was born, and he was working, you know how it is.”  Yes, because everyone has a father who is also a masked super-villain.</p>
<p>“Doesn’t make it any easier, does it?”  Carmen said, and there was an old sadness in her voice.</p>
<p>“Not really.  He was still my Dad.”</p>
<p>“I met him once, you know.  He used to like to come in early and I usually have the swing shift.  He seemed nice, for what its worth.  I suppose we’ll get passed on with the volcano.”</p>
<p>“I suppose.  What did you talk about with him?”  I had only met my father in real life a handful of times, and the idea of him pottering around the volcano as the early shift trickled in seemed incongruous somehow.  I assumed he was more the typical stay-in-the-office type. </p>
<p>“Oh um, I had just made a fresh pot of coffee, and he asked me how I liked working here and how did I want my coffee.  And I said I liked working here very much and I would take cream and two sugars.  And he said I like mine-“</p>
<p>“As black as night and sweet as sin.”  I said it with her and we shared a smile.  Her smile was as lovely as the rest of her, natural and with dimples tucked into the corners.  She was wearing a burnt orange lipstick today. </p>
<p>“Then he asked what project I was on and I told him Project Plutarch and… Are you okay?”</p>
<p>I realised my eyes were streaming.  I went to say “Yes, I just seem to be leaking a bit” but instead a made a stupid little sobbing noise and fumbled in my pocket for a tissue.  I blew my nose and scrubbed my eyes a bit and she put her arm around me. It was a moment of exquisite conflict.  A gorgeous woman was putting her arms around me but also I was covered in snot and tears at a funeral.</p>
<p>“S-sorry.  I didn’t mean-“ </p>
<p>“You never mean anything.” She didn’t sound mad, and after a moment I cleared my throat.</p>
<p>“Um, thanks.  I feel better now.”  She didn’t take her arm away, and it was reassuring.  It was warm and human and alive. </p>
<p>“Don’t mention it.”  We sat in silence for a moment and then she took her arm away.  “Are you staying long after the funeral?”</p>
<p>“I’m – I’m planning on leaving tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“Ah well.  I’m sorry for your loss, Millie.”  And she kissed me on the cheek again.  I turned to her but she was already standing up, pulling her uniform straight.</p>
<p>“This is the second time you’ve got my clothes wet.  Anyone would think you were making a habit of it.”  She brushed at the wet patch on her shoulder and I felt myself going red.  She saw it and smiled, and I went even redder.</p>
<p>“See you around, Millie.”</p>
<p>The ceremony started after that, and I let it wash over me.  My cheek tingled where Carmen had kissed me and the smell of her perfume still lingered in my nose.  After the ceremony, I looked out for her but she had already disappeared into the crowd, and Mr Ramsworth was at my elbow.</p>
<p>“There you are.  Making friends, are you?  I thought I would take you for a spot of lunch before the funeral.” </p>
<p>“Oh, sure…” I said, still half-distracted. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lunch turned out to be in the volcano.</p>
<p>“I know you said you weren’t going to take on the place but I thought it might be jolly for you to see it.”  Mr Ramsworth had said in the car.  We had gone through the visitors drive-in entrance, a door in the side of the volcano partly hidden by trees.  Apparently there was a helipad further up the side, but it too was artfully obscured.  The inside was kitted out in a sort of retro-futuristic style that Mr Ramsworth said was actually quite on-trend for a lot of villains.  The corridors were practically empty except for a skeleton crew keeping the lights on.  We took a glass-fronted elevator that looked out over what appeared to be an aircraft hangar, up to almost the top of the volcano.  The elevator ride was smooth and fast, and I felt my stomach drop although Mr Ramsworth seemed unperturbed.  We came out on a sort of mezzanine around the top of the hangar and then through a few more doors to…</p>
<p>“This is your father’s suite.  I thought you might like to see the view and so on.”</p>
<p>The suite was impressive (and a bit draughty).  There was my father’s office, with an absolutely massive desk and three computer-screens. </p>
<p>“We’ve already gone through this area,” Mr Ramsworth said behind me. “A lot of the official items will go to the GOWD’s archives, of course.  Some of it will be left for his replacement.”</p>
<p>“Right…” I said, sitting down in the plush leather desk-chair.  It was strange seeing it from Dad’s angle.  I wondered if he replied to my emails from here… I absently opened a couple of drawers and sniffed hugely, fumbling out a tissue.  Mr Ramsworth, clearly mildly appalled by this show of feminine emotion, retreated to a safe distance.  I flapped the tissue around my nose whilst my fingers felt along the sides of the drawer. There was a small raised knot of wood.  It didn’t look like anything except a knot of wood, which is how I knew it did something.  I cleared my throat and kept my head down, trying to think like Dad.  I smiled and unbent a stray paper-clip, poking it hard into the knot.  There was the quietest of clicks and the bottom of the drawer raised up. Inside the drawer was a notebook and an envelope.  I sniffed theatrically and took both, tucking them inside Tim’s suit.  Then I pressed everything back into place and closed the drawer.  I got out of the chair and made a great show of tucking my tissue back in my pocket as I strolled back to Mr Ramsworth.</p>
<p>“Ah, yes. I asked for lunch to be laid out in the main conference room.”</p>
<p>When we went into the conference room I could see why.  It had a large picture window that looked out over the other side of the island, which was mainly unspoiled woodland with a beach fringing it.  Beyond there the sea twinkled in the sun and gulls circled.</p>
<p>“Wow, it’s quite a view.”  I remarked as I sat at the oval conference table.  A Level Four Henchman rolled in a trolley on which was a full tea service and a selection of tiny sandwiches and other dainties.</p>
<p>“I did think you might want to keep a clear head,” Mr Ramsworth handed me the sandwiches.  “But I do think it’s bad luck to toast with tea…”  He got up and opened a cupboard in the sideboard, pulling out a decanter and two tumblers with a certainty that showed he knew where it was.  For someone who thought I should keep a clear head, he was plenty generous with the whisky. </p>
<p>“Here.  To your father, hm?”  We chinked the glasses and the whisky burnt down into my stomach and chasing away some of the clouds that had hung in my head since I had woken up.  Mr Ramsworth was master of small talk, and we chatted politely as we ate tiny sandwiches, small sausage rolls and miniscule pancakes with smoked salmon mousse.  To be fair, everything was delicious, and I had the presence of mind to swipe a cupcake to take home for Tim as we went out.  I even wrapped it up pretty well so he probably wouldn’t get a pocket full of cake crumbs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In fact, between the whisky and the lunch and finding the book and envelope, I was feeling a bit jaunty by the time I got back in the car.  The sight of the hearse with the coffin brought me back down with a bump.  Mr Ramsworth cleared his throat, clearly worried I was about to have another crying jag where he couldn’t run away.  I didn’t cry, but I did check the notebook was still in my pocket.</p>
<p>The funeral was less well attended than the Henchman’s Ceremony.  There were some people I vaguely recognised as Dad’s colleagues and occasional rivals from the television, and a lot more people I didn’t.  I didn’t fancy having to meet everyone so I took my seat quickly and tried not to make eye contact.</p>
<p>The funeral was actually pretty to the point.  Dad had never been particularly religious, and the GOWD celebrant mainly concentrated on his achievements in the GOWD.  Then a buddy of his came up and told a couple of stories about Dad when he was starting out, which was kind of nice but weird, and then it was all over.  I followed his casket out of the seating area to where two rows of Henchmen were waiting to give Dad the traditional twenty-man send-off.  As I got to the end of the line I realised Carmen was smiling at me over her laser dart-gun.  She waved as I kept following the casket and I bumped into Mr Ramsworth trying to wave back.</p>
<p>Dad wasn’t going to be buried on the island – he would be cremated in the volcano, which was a very traditional way to dispose of villain bodies and something he had requested explicitly in his will.  We wouldn’t have to follow him all the way to the lava flow, so we saw him into the hearse and then the crowd started to disperse. </p>
<p>“I know that there’s going to be a bit of a wake on the mainland but I suspect you’re still planning to head home?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I have to go back to work tomorrow and staying at Dad’s on my own is weird.  But I’ll take Charlie back with me, if that helps.”</p>
<p>“The cat?  Of course.  Is there anything else you want from the house?”</p>
<p>I hadn’t thought of that.  “Uh, there’s a photo of me in the… the bedroom.  And you should make sure to recommend Wanda to the new guy.”</p>
<p>“The cleaner, yes?  Of course, your father always sang her praises.”  Mr Ramsworth nodded. </p>
<p>“Okay.  Well, thank you very much for your help Mr Ramsworth, you’ve made this whole process as easy as it could be, and I’m sure my Dad would have appreciated your loyalty.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure he would.  It was a pleasure to meet you, Millie.”  We shook hands and then I got in the car.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I waited to check out the notebook.  I was actually really proud of myself.  I took the plane back to the mainland.  I didn’t look at it in the car back to the house, or whilst having dinner with Tim or when we watched a movie after.  In fact, I waited till I could hear Tim snoring softly through the wall, and closed the curtains tight.  I checked along the walls and in the light-shade and just for fun, I even knocked on the plug socket and felt behind the radiator.  Then I got into bed and pulled the notebook and the envelope out of my pillow-case.  I opened the envelope first.</p>
<p>
  <em>Dear Millie</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I hope you find this.  I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk about this more when I was alive, but I wanted you to have this.  The Mongoose is coming for me, but there’s still so much I could do.  Have a look through this and see what you think – it might surprise you.  I never told you this when it might have mattered but I always thought you had the spark for this sort of thing.  Make me proud.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Love, Dad</em>
</p>
<p>I lay back in my bed, flipping through the notebook, pausing occasionally at a really interesting schematic or idea.  Then I lay there and just thought, a little bit about schematics but also about beautiful hair bound up in a bun, and dark eyes I could get lost in.  I smiled in the dark.  A spark, huh?</p>
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